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> Eventually you pull yourself into bed and somehow manage to find sleep.> Next morning comes soon enough:> The camp's wake-up alarm sounding over the PA to pull everypony from their beds; you are no exception.> With blurry eyes and a wide yawn you drag yourself from the bed and in to the bathroom, pausing only to kick at an itching ear with one hindleg.> One of the few luxuries you had - a private place to wash, rather than the communal showers everypony else made do with.> Actual baths were an even greater luxury, but standing with your muzzle under the lukewarm spray and imagining yourself underwater was a close-enough approximation.> Plus it was a fast way to get the shampoo all the way out of your mane quickly enough.> And-> That's odd.> Pulling your head from beneath the showerhead, you cock an ear.> The wake-up alarm had already sounded, and the next - a warning that time was passing and everypony had to hurry on to report for work on time - couldn't possibly be sounding yet.> It takes you another moment to realize the atonal, buzzing siren is neither of those.> The lockdown alarm!> What now?!> Why now?!> Was a moment of peace too much to ask?> You barely bother to shut off the water before leaping from the bathtub and charging for the front door.> Drying off is skipped altogether, and you leave a liberally-scattered trail of droplets in the early-summer-morning cool while galloping for the security post.> A leaping launch and you're in the air.> Instantly you angle yourself - redirecting towards the edge of the camp where the small convoy of the guards' cars are already traveling.> And where, in the dawn's growing light, you can see the cause of the alarm:> Whereas before the protesters had held a reasonable distance in the past, now they had formed ranks practically at the very edge of the fence.> Even from this distance you could hear their chanting and clapping; a rising tide of raucous of voices.